


The Jacket

by prince_dejah



Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Ficlet, He gets jealous easily, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Language, One Shot, its real short and goofy, they fight a little but its happy at the end, theyre always fighting, this is from wrench's POV, wrenchers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23302321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prince_dejah/pseuds/prince_dejah
Summary: Now it was Wrench’s turn to roll his eyes. "Alright then 'babe', what did you wanna do about it? Since you clearly know so much about my clothing needs."  Wrench put heavy emphasis on “babe”, knowing it would irk Numbers when used in that way.Numbers stuck out his tongue and made a mocking face. But he put the shake aside, and Wrench raised his eyebrow, this was serious."I’m gonna take you shopping."******************************************************************************************************************************In which Wrench buys the fringe jacket.
Relationships: Mr. Numbers/Mr. Wrench (Fargo)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	The Jacket

**Author's Note:**

> A little fic based on some convos with winterwinterwinter! Had a lot of fun writing from Wrench's POV.

Wrench couldn’t bring himself to care about clothes. He just couldn’t. Despite finally having money to buy nicer pants, slacks even, shirts that had collars, that didn’t have holes in them, boots that weren’t falling apart at the soles, he didn’t. Maybe it was because he knew they would probably get ripped from knives or bullets and eventually get dirt or blood on them. Maybe because most clothes he had growing up were hand-me-down or thrifted, old and tattered, never fit him right, the sleeves too short, the pant legs high watered. Maybe because he never wanted any additional attention, that was all Numbers. While Numbers spent hours on hair, skin, and clothes, looking so good when he was done, and knowing he looked so good that it attracted all the right stares, Wrench preferred to go unnoticed. The less questions and stares, the smoother their job was, they were better off. And a gargantuan deaf fella was already easy enough to notice. 

_You’re impossibly low M-A-I-N-T-E-N-A-N-C-E._ Numbers signed one night while they were sitting in a diner, eating a late-night meal. Wrench wasn’t sure if you could count your first meal of the day at 4 a.m. dinner. Breakfast? They had finally finished a painstaking long and gruesome job, with more limbs broken than they usually had. Numbers still had dried blood in his hair and loose strands fell over his creased forehead. Wrench had gotten the side of his face slashed open, now expertly stitched up by Numbers. They sat in a corner booth, where they could view all the exits. The diner was quiet, all grease stained tiles and chipped menus, faint country music filtering from a broken sound system.

Wrench shrugged and continued eating his fries, dipping them in obscene amounts of barbecue sauce. The first time he did that Numbers slapped a fry out of his hand. _Who the fuck puts barbecue sauce on fries??_ He had been disappointed by his burger; it was too salty and somehow wet. But the fries were good, crispy, almost burnt, just how he liked them. Numbers was eating a BLT and of course, had ordered a chocolate milkshake with whipped cream which he was slurping as he eyed Wrench.

_You know that guy sliced a hole in your coat._

Wrench looked down over his shoulder and sure enough, there was a gaping hole in the lower part of his coat, exposing his denim shirt. Damnit. It was a blue puffer bomber, made of cheap material, but it had lasted him a while.

_I’ll just patch it up._ He signed, fingers glistening with sauce. 

Numbers rolled his eyes. He looked so ridiculous when he did that, especially since it jostled loose hair that he didn’t have gel to fix, and Wrench loved it. _I used the last of the thread to stitch your sorry face up._

Damnit. _Okay...I’ll just patch it up when we get back to the motel, no B-I-G-G-I-E._

_It’s like nineteen below. And the motel is two hours away. You’re gonna feel that wind._ Numbers signed, slurping his milkshake. Wrench wanted to knock that shake out of his stupid hands, hadn’t he reached the bottom already?

Now it was Wrench’s turn to roll his eyes. _Alright then “babe”, what did you wanna do about it? Since you clearly know so much about my clothing needs._ Wrench put heavy emphasis on “babe”, knowing it would irk Numbers when used in that way.

Numbers stuck out his tongue and made a mocking face. But he put the shake aside, and Wrench raised his eyebrow, this was serious.

_I’m gonna take you shopping._

**************************************************************************************************

Numbers actually drove them into town once they had gotten some sleep in their shitty rusting ‘91 beige hatchback. He apparently knew all the best spots, and there was no way Wrench was gonna argue. Numbers drove like he knew the rules of the road but didn’t think they necessarily applied to them. Wrench lost track of how many people he cut off, how many eighteen-wheelers blared their horns at them, or how many times Numbers gave them the bird. It was definitely over fifteen.

“Stupid motherfuckers…” Numbers grumbled along with something else that Wrench couldn’t lip read. He was chain-smoking and the cigarette dangled between his lips. “Stupid” and “motherfucker” were in Numbers’ daily vocabulary so it wasn’t too hard to make those words out.

Wrench smiled a little and glanced back at the road. The snow had finally stopped, and the roads were now starting to get cleared. They took an unbelievably sharp turn (Wrench grabbed onto the bar above the passenger seat while Numbers hollered something about no one knowing how to drive except him (which was utterly impossible)), then they were in a little strip mall parking lot. Their car skirted into a spot, and Wrench swore he could smell rubber burning. Numbers turned off the car, put out his cigarette, and clambered out of the car, Wrench behind him.

_So..._ Wrench signed as they walked towards the entrance. _Ever taken drivers’ ed?_

Numbers flicked him off as Wrench snickered. The parking lot was icy and full, what day was it? Probably a weekend. Lots of minivans and tired mothers holding onto armies of small children.

They went inside. It probably had been a nice mall at some point, the features once relevant perhaps in the seventies. But it was a little sad now. There was a lot of random wooden paneling, faded and blotchy wall to wall carpet in certain areas, avocado green tiles running alongside the wall, and dim yellow fluorescent lights that flickered. There were spots where the mall looked like it had tried to revamp itself, some stores had new lighting that didn’t sadly flicker, some had trendy signage out front, some walls were painted bright, vibrant colors that seemed to shout in protest against the muted earth tones, but upon further inspection, the walls weren’t painted all the way, the signage had scuff marks, and the new lighting had one or two bulbs missing. The storefronts were about the same level of failure to change with the times. 

Numbers marched them over to a tailor shop, which was surprisingly clean and welcoming. They entered and Numbers began sifting through their selection of coats, chatting up the clerk working the floor who was a tall- and Wrench hated to admit it-rather good-looking young kid, probably working during the winters off from college. Numbers was pulling out random coats, some leather, some cashmere, some long and buttoned, some short and zippered. He was holding them up to the clerk whose name tag read _Leo_ and Leo nodded or shook his head and made comments, and Numbers gestured to Wrench who just kind of stood there not knowing what to do or where to put his hands, and Leo nodded or shook his head and they kept talking and talking, both too fast, and Wrench gave up trying to read their lips. He signed a few times for Numbers to translate but Numbers ignored him. He really hated that shit, really fucking hated that shit. 

Wrench picked up a coat randomly off the rack and shook it in Numbers’ face, and by the look on Leo’s face, he was sure it had been loud, probably clacking against the hanger. 

_You wanna fucking say something? Or are you okay only talking with someone who can actually hear your stupid opinions? Wrench signed, angry._

Numbers’ huffed but did look a little guilty. _Sorry. Here try on these, Leo says since you both are around the same height, they should work._

Wrench snatched the coats out of Numbers’ hands, and swore he saw Numbers and Leo exchange some kind of knowing look which further pissed Wrench off. He moved over to the dressing room, then realized it was just a coat, he didn’t have to strip, but he didn’t want to walk over back to that Judas and his twink, so he shed his current jacket, which he wasn’t fond exactly, but had worn for a year now and it had grown on him. He was a little sorry to see it go. He plopped the jackets onto a nearby chair, and tried on the first jacket, a long navy pea-coat, exactly something Numbers would wear. It was nice, but it was too nice, he felt awkward in it, like he was going to get accused of shoplifting. The next coat was an olive-green parka with a fur hood. It was soft and warm, but again, it was just too nice. There were three more to try on, but just as Wrench was about to sign to Grady and ask if they really had money for this and was it really necessary, they could just buy more thread at the mall couldn’t they- he saw Numbers laugh, and Leo place an unguarded hand on Numbers’ shoulder. That did it. 

Wrench let go of the rest of the coats, hangers and all onto the floor and both Leo and Numbers looked up. Leo’s hand dropped. Wrench started walking out of the store, when he saw Numbers begin to sigh and walk after him. 

_What are you doing, Wes?_ Numbers signed impatiently. 

_Go fuck yourself._ Wes signed back, as loud as he could, also mouthing it so there could be no misunderstanding. He turned around and walked out of the store before Grady could run after him. 

***************************************************************************************

Wrench didn’t mean to walk so far away from the mall. He just walked and walked and then he looked up and he wasn’t near the mall anymore. Numbers was right, he felt the wind cut through his jacket through the open slice in the cheap material. Not that he was gonna tell Numbers that. Not that he was talking to Numbers. Wrench let out an angry huff, he was pissed at his partner, yet he was still thinking about him. Fuck.

Part of him knew what he was upset about was ridiculous. It's not that the clerk had done anything. But it was the way Numbers’ laughed, like how he usually only laughed with Wrench. That was HIS partner, he got to make him laugh like that. It was the way Numbers could ignore Wrench when he felt like it, just a turn of his head or an aversion of his eyes, and suddenly Wrench was thirteen again with no one in the world who could understand his words except for Grady who had decided he was going to ignore Wrench for whatever reason. He hated that feeling.

In front of Wrench was a little run-down building that was probably part of a section of town that was there before the mall had taken over. It had two faded signs, but the most recent one on top said _Discount and Thrift._ A cream-colored cat lay in the front window, underneath a mannequin dressed for some tropical vacation it would never see with scattered flimsy paperbacks and strange cords piled up around it. Wrench glanced at the mannequin in the adjacent window and saw the most beautiful jacket he had ever seen. It looked like it had stepped off John Wayne’s back, all worn brown leather and fringe covering each sleeve, back and bottom lining. Shit. 

A soft bell chimed as Wrench entered the store, ducking his head to miss the beam of wood that was knocked out of the ceiling. It was the same kind of energy on the inside as on the outside. Old, outdated, cluttered, eccentric and yet very obviously loved. An elderly lady was reading at the front counter, a dog-eared romance novel that she was engrossed in. She only looked up when Wrench placed his hands on the cigarette stained counter, startled clearly, with large brown eyes underneath gold rimmed cat eye bifocals. Her hair was styled back in simple gray cornrows that were tied neatly at the nape of her neck, and she had a rumpled pink sweater with a flower brooch that was missing a few jewels, along with a pin that said “I don’t brake for Republicans”.

“Jesus,” she coughed, like she came out of the womb smoking. Wrench imagined the grainy feel of her blackened vocal cords. Did everyone in this state smoke? “You scared the hell out of me. You walk up on people like that all the time?” 

_I never know how loud I am, lady, I’m fucking deaf._ He signed, already looking for a piece of paper in his pocket to scribble on. No one he encountered ever communicated in ASL, so he always had to write things down or make gestures if he was really in a hurry.

_Well, why didn’t you say so?_ Her gnarled hands signed, covered in glittering rusting rings with bright blue nail polish to match the shade painted on her caramel-colored eyelids. Her signs weren’t nearly as smooth or as fast as Numbers’, but they were ridiculously accurate, probably more so than Numbers’. 

Wrench must have unconsciously made a face, because she gave a warm smile and signed. _My nephew is deaf. I’ve been trying to get better at signing._

Wrench gave a warm smile back. _Yours is good._ He signed simply and slowly.

_You flatter me, you handsome thing._ She signed to which Wrench gave a dry laugh. _Now what can I do you for? I don’t get many customers in here ever since they put up that S-T-R-I-P-M-A-L-L._

Wrench nodded in understanding. _It’s not that great._

_Oh, I know. Yet people still go. Still sucks money from local business owners like me._

Wrench pulled his jacket off, placed it on the counter, and pointed to the gash. _Got a hole in my jacket. Was hoping to buy yours off the M-A-N-N-E-Q-U-I-N._

The woman sucked her teeth and looked at his jacket. _That’s a nasty hole you’ve got there, handsome._

_Dog got to it._ Wrench lied easily. He hoped she ignored any old or current bloodstains. He was pretty sure he had washed most of them out.

She smiled. _I’m no R-U-B-E, but I don’t ask questions I don’t want to hear answers to._ She tilted her head towards the jacket on the mannequin. _No one’s asked about it in years. Go get it and try it on._

Wrench beamed and rushed over to the jacket, gently took it off the mannequin _._ He slid it on, over his denim shirt, and he marveled at how soft it was. The fringe swayed back and forth as he touched the sleeves. They were barely touching the tops of his wrists. The back felt warm, a relief from the cold he felt with the hole in his old jacket. 

He looked up, and the shop owner pointed to a mirror at the other end of the store. _Go on._

Wrench walked over and peered into the dusty mirror. His face was gaunt, tight over the stitches, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his permanent scowl was still there. His sandy curls were matted and greasy, he needed a shower. But the jacket was perfect. Wrench was an outlaw, a lone rider, a midnight cowboy, everything he wanted to be when he was a kid. He could feel his younger self cheering. 

He looked back at the counter to where the woman was grinning at him. _Give us a T-W-I-R-L then._

Wrench let out a noise that was kind of like a suppressed laugh and did what he was told. The fringe whipped around him and swayed even after he stopped. 

_Oh, if I was thirty years younger, I sure would let you take me into the sunset._ The woman signed, feigning a swoon. 

Wrench let out another laugh and gave a little bow and signed back _I would be all yours darling._ He noticed how the fringe moved when he moved, it was responding to his language, his movements, his being. He needed this jacket. _How much?_

_It’s all yours, honey._ The woman waved him off. _It suits you._

Wrench’s face scrunched up in a signature scowl. _Come on, I have to pay you._

Just as the woman raised her hand to sign something else, the soft bell chimed and Numbers strolled in, looking a little out of place in the shop.

“Wow, two new customers in one day, must be the bra I’m wearing.” The shop owner said. “Let me know if I can help you find something, stranger.”

Numbers looked uncomfortable, but saw Wrench in the back. He made at least four faces, each trying to figure out how the jacket had made it onto Wrench, but he had a few brain cells left to respond to the woman. “That’s alright, I actually came in for my friend here.”

“Suit yourself.” she said, opening her book back up.

_Wes, what the hell is that?_

_My new jacket._

_You’re kidding._

_I’m not._

_We already attract enough attention._

_So?_

Numbers sighed and raised his hands in defeat knowing it was an argument he wasn't going to win. _Okay._

He turned to the woman at the counter. “How much?”

“I already told your friend, the jacket suits him, he’s free to walk out with it,” she said idly, as she continued to read her book.

_And I already told her, I’m not going to walk out here without paying her for it._

Numbers dug out his wallet and placed a fifty-dollar bill on the counter. “It’s real leather, right?”

The woman stopped reading. “Yes." She looked at the money, then back at Numbers, clearly trying to figure out their situation. "My grandfather wore it herding cattle.”

“Alright.” Numbers turned to Wes. 

_Look I’m sorry. Leo’s a nice kid, he was just being friendly, but he's not even gay. He gets me discounts on suits, so I keep coming back. You’re the only one I want to be with. And that jacket makes you look like a sexy cowboy, so let’s hurry up and finish this so we can get back to the car so I can fuck your brains out._

Wrench’s eyebrows shot up as did the shop owner’s. Numbers looked confused then he slowly turned beet red. “Shit.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, loosening more strands. “Please tell me you don’t know sign language.”

“Honey, I don’t know what you mean.” the woman said with a warm smile.

Numbers breathed a sigh of relief and Wrench barely could keep his laughter in. “Okay, well thanks. Have a good day.”

The woman nodded and picked her book back up as the bell chimed as they started to leave, Numbers leading the way. “You too, sexy cowboys.” 

Numbers' whipped his head around and tripped over the door frame and Wrench broke out laughing, unable to contain it anymore. Numbers had to help him out the door, he was laughing too hard to move right. Wrench was pretty sure the woman could hear Numbers groaning from embarrassment. This was better than any apology Numbers could have given, Wrench thought as he wiped tears from his eyes, Numbers' smacking him on the head.

**Author's Note:**

> Numbers is too embarrassed to make any moves, but he does look dreamily at Wrench as he drives them home, and leans his head against his cowboy's shoulder.


End file.
